


the cadenza

by London_The_Loser



Series: fucking bullshit mcyt au's [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ADHD, Alternate Universe - Music, Angst, Anxiety, Crack, Drums, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Guitar, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Pan Flute, Platonic Relationships, Strangers to Family, floor toms, godDAMNIT they're musicians, hafjdfkafj tommy playing the floor tom, i dont fucking know how pan flutes work, i know theres like, oh fuck drums too, physical injury, shit i hate researching, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, that would be tommy and techno, that would be wilbur, violin, work in progress that i may or may not finish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27875401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_The_Loser/pseuds/London_The_Loser
Summary: fuck it, musicians au except written by someone who only knows about classical music and indie (feat. prodigy techno, aggressive tommyinnit, simply vibing TM philza, and... wilbur being wilbur)for the sake of this story, this takes place in a realistic version of minecraft, not irl.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: fucking bullshit mcyt au's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040937
Comments: 9
Kudos: 168





	the cadenza

**Author's Note:**

> this is so unrealistic and i'm too tired to look up how concerts usually work, musical nerds aren't allowed to kill me, i'm a fucking teenager, please i'm just a child, know nothing about life and wanted techno to be pretty and play violin. be kind. it's 1am. have pity for a struggling novelist writing minecraft fanfiction. i like flashy violin pieces and technoblade, just shoved the blood god and paganini together and prayed it would fit- why do i do this to myself.

"does he fucking have _pink hair?_ " 

"tommy, shut up-"

"wil, his hair is pink!"

"people are staring-"

"not as much as they're staring at pinkie over there!"

"for the love of god, you're being a dick."

" _rude-!_ " 

"boys!"

wilbur and tommy jerked back immediately, both of their heads whipping around towards the man who had interrupted their bickering. 

"tommy, we're hear because _you_ were interested in classical music, don't get us kicked out after we went through the effort of getting tickets for the most _ridiculously expensive performance_ you could have possibly chosen. and wilbur-"

"-don't fucking say it-"

"-set a better example for your younger brother-"

"-and you fucking said it-"

"-and _do not_ curse at your father!"

"yes sir!" the teenager responded, rushing to coordinate his lanky limbs into what seemed to be... an attempt at saluting. the boy behind him had his hand clamped against his lower face, cheeks flushed from stifled laughter as his older brother tripped slightly on nothing. phil sighed, shuffling in the direction to one of the many curtained archways that led into the auditorium. he was sure this would be interesting, considering his youngest son _was_ correct. the concertmaster did have an interesting demeanor, almost startling compared to what he had previously seen from classical musicians, as well as being... _profoundly_ outside of the usual dress code. 

honestly the man in the posters placed in the entryway was strange looking even for regular standards. not only was his hair pink, but it was _long,_ sweeping down his back in a neat braid with almost perfect strands falling out at the front, vibrant and bright against his flowing, ruffled blouse. the blouse in question had been loosely tucked into traditional styled, high waisted dress pants, bringing out his slim waist. phil could only assume his legs were thin as well, it would only make sense that the same sleekness would carry throughout the man's lower body, 

not only was his clothing and hair uniquely regal, he had taken a liking to other methods of self expression. sharp, straight and arching lines had been dutifully painted with eyeliner over his eyelids, traveling from the inner corner to half an inch past his outer corner in a pointed cat eye, before branching off into a delicate tracing of the skin just above his eyelid crease. a saturated pink blush sat heavy on the point and underside of his nose, as well as the highest parts of his cheekbones. a long, silver sword-shaped earring dangled elegantly from his right ear, accompanied by several other hoops and cuffs lining the rest of the appendage (his left ear was similar, but almost every earring was different, including a thin gold chain that started at the top and hooked delicately at the bottom). finally, two thin lip rings sat symmetrically on his bottom lip, standing out against soft pink. 

but more interesting than any of his remarkable choice of accessorizing, were the long, deep, terrifying scars that altered his calculated expression into something colder, more piercing. phil wonders how many hearts the man had stopped, how many lungs he tightened from his steady gaze, assessing your worth before finding another onlooker to dash. but more than anything, he wonders what brought such a damaged man, face torn open and pieced back together, to such a place as the stage.

maybe the money was worth it the moment he read "paganini, cencerto no. 1", but he was sure no performance would be as memorable as the one to come. 

"philza minecraft! you've been staring at pinkie for _at least_ five minutes, and i realize he's quite funky looking, but i _really_ need to piss and i am too much of a big man to speak to the sca- stupid looking worker people where the bathroom is."

it was then that it dawned on phil, once again, the drummer could barely hold an attention span for more than ten minutes, let alone a two hour concert. the man just prayed on anything above that it would go smoothly, they would enjoy the delightfulness of classical music and travel home to their usual hour of fiddling around and practicing, tommy in the basement, wilbur in his room, and phil out in their garden. 

////////////

by the time they had made their way to paganini's concerto, everything had been relatively okay. wilbur's hands had started to shake lightly after a particularly large swell, the problem easily solved when phil gently took the teenagers hands in his and rubbed soothing circles into his wrist. tommy's leg had begun to bounce restlessly on-and-off for the past twenty minutes, which was understandable and expected. phil had prepared for both of the boys stims and fidgets, satchel stalked reasonably with stimulant toys and such for long outings. it was a habit he had kept up ever since first taking in wilbur, immediately understanding the boys anxiety and what he could do to accommodate the young boy in the way he deserved. it was the least he could do for the boys after the way they had been treated prior to when phil found them. 

the pink haired man, _technoblade_ , was about as remarkable as one might expect from a figure of such unequaled characteristics. throughout the time they had been enjoying the concert, its first chair took up half the stage with his tall, unwavering presence. his hair had been tightened into an intricately patterned bun, a large portion of his earrings missing, including the silver sword, although replaced by another blade hanging around his neck. his bow strokes were unbothered, sharp and strong only when it made the greatest impact in the atmosphere, wrist loose and flowing as his right hand danced skillfully between strings and positions. 

so of course it was during the cadenza that everything vaguely went to shit. 

tommy had decided to excuse himself to the restroom moments before the infamous solo would take place, although phil wasn't necessarily all too worried. the younger would make his way back quickly and most likely wouldn't feel too bad about missing the first minute or so, not being nearly as engaged as phil and wilbur (that's not to say that tommy wasn't enjoying the music, he just had a notoriously short attention span). tommy gone to the bathroom, wilbur and phil zoned into the- to put it lightly- _extraordinary_ playing displayed on stage by the strange concertmaster in front of them, it wasn't necessarily either of their fault for neglecting to notice that the cadenza was nearly halfway over and the youngest had still neglected to stumble his way back to their seats. 

it wasn't until the solo was swelling gradually into the last bars of music, audience left open mouthed and astounded as the concertmaster easily flew through chords with a bored expression plastered on his face without reform. nobody but the few stragglers in the backrow who could draw themselves away from the man on stage took notice of the disturbances sounding from the entryway, muffled shouts and crashes easily swept under the current of melodies gathered tactfully with a skillful push and pull of a bow. 

it wasn't until tommy was stumbling frantically past the curtains blocking the closest entry hallway that people began to filter in anything outside the bubble of aw captured in sound waves, and by the time the boy had staggered down the isle to phil's left, the older man had pushed past startled patrons to caught his son right as he tripped over his own uncoordinated movement. wilbur was by their side in a second, the oldest only taking his attention off his brother and worried father to flinch and whip around at the sound of combat directly outside the curtains. dropping back down to phil's level, wilbur wasted only a few moments watching the man's steady hands press against a fairly deep cut in tommy's calf, before he was tugging on the sleeve of his green robe. 

"dad, i need your sword." 

"why?" phil didn't look up, but wilbur knew he was paying attention. 

"outside, mobs i think. either that or thieves."

"i know, it was more of a 'why the hell would i let my son wander off into a fight without armor or a shield?'"

"because i wouldn't expect civilians to know how to handle hostile mobs _or_ thieves-"

"just because i taught you how to fight doesn't mean you are allowed to throw yourself into unnecessary fights."

"how is this unnecessary?" wilbur asked, the three members of the family blissfully unaware of the now quiet auditorium around them, nothing but low murmuring could be heard over their argument. 

"because your brother's hurt and i'm absolutely not dealing with two wounded teenagers!"

"everyone else is gunna get fucking hurt if we don't _do something_ about it-"

"just give me a moment to stop this from-"  
  


"beanie boy."

wilbur yelped, pivoting around comically fast and staring up at the towering mass of lavish clothing and practiced apathy, long fingers stretched towards him in a silent offering. it was still for a second, nothing but clashes and pained grunts from their left and increasingly growing murmurs from the antsy crowd, nobody quite understanding the abrupt change in atmosphere. when did the concertmaster make his way to them? _why?_

"oh what the fuck, it's even more pink when he's right there. you know that shit is bloody annoying to look at, right? my eyes are going to fucking bleed, jesus. you're a downright bitch for sauntering over here with all that big man bullshit just to call my bro a shitty nickname and fucking _blind me_ with all your goddamn gaudy nonsense- who even _needs_ a sword necklace? we have regular swords for a reason-"

instead of responding, the stranger shifted his stance once again, squaring his shoulder's and wiggling his outstretched fingers to draw wilbur's attention back towards them. 

"technoblade." he said evenly, as what wilbur assumed was a form of introduction. glancing nervously back at phil, who just raised his eyebrow skeptically at the silent question, wilbur chewed down on his lip. the grunts of pain from outside were becoming more frequent then not, audience members sending wide eyed glances of confusion and fear in every direction. there was no one to help, phil's wings were in their case back at home, tommy was still rambling angry nonsense under his breath as their dad's hands continued to stifle the blood flow while struggling to rip off a piece of fabric and use it as bandages. 

_the bard and the violinist, a duo to be reckoned with,_ wilbur thought goofily, grinning up at the man above him and sliding their hands together in a firm grip. 

"wilbur." 

wil almost didn't catch the triumphant smile that had reshaped the curve of techno's lips. 

" _i can't believe wilbur got to fucking fight monsters with a mysterious pink haired warrior while i bled out of my calf like a fucking dumbass."_


End file.
